Semiotics
by jamiesgotagun15
Summary: End Sunnydale. A soulless Buffy, the return of a notorious hell-goddess, and Faith's battle to exterminate the evil inside of her is just the beginning. Can the two slayers find and perpetuate love while another hellmouth attempts to devour them whole?


Buffy Summers was hardly a stranger to the non-cleanliness of no-name desert motels - she'd spent a few too many nights in them for one reason or another, usually when running from the very town she'd just sent under the ground - but this one took the cake. The paint was peeling, the television received only one channel (barely), and the furniture was badly in need of a dusting. Buffy had thrown her own jacket over the pillows, a little nervous about resting her head on them. Sighing, she lifted herself out of the threadbare armchair, and walked over to the large floor-to-ceiling window. From her vantage, she had a view clear across the parking lot and over to the nearby freeway. It occurred to her that for once, she wasn't protecting anyone, wasn't keeping anyone safe. Xander had Willow, his lifelong best friend, to comfort him as the reality of Anya's death set in. Even Dawn had chosen her new friends - not the sister who had been a second mother to her - to turn to as the magnitude of what they had done that day began to reveal itself.

Maybe it's me who needs protecting this time, Buffy thought, and banished the idea almost as soon as it had come to her. That was preposterous. She couldn't remember the last time she had needed company, the last time she hadn't forced herself to be enough. Still, almost involuntarily, Buffy was on her feet, moving out of the room and walking down the hallway, trying to remember exactly which door would lead her to the only other person in the world who could possibly understand what she was feeling.

Faith reached one hand into her jacket pocket. The other yanked at the paper-thin curtain that hung from a crooked rod, stained coppery and rusty from years of avoidance. Next, the hand lifted at the windowpane, slid the flimsy sheet of glass away from the sill, inviting open air into the dark, musty motel room. A smile pulled gently at one corner of Faith Lehane's lips as her fingers curled around a rather drooping, crushed package of cigarettes that sat warmly in her inside jacket pocket.

_Score._

She lifted the lid, peered inside, and gratefully began to remove the one last cigarette. It was nearly limp, its tobacco loose and sagging slightly as she retrieved. But she would be damned if she didn't smoke it. Pushing the thing behind her ear, she moved on to the next task: finding a lighter.

It had been ... Jesus, three days already? They had been driving for a good portion of the past 48 hours, and finally stopped in the middle of goddamned nowhere to sleep. To regroup. To.. whatever. Faith had a heightened awareness of the pairings that were beginning to form. Willow and Xander, although that was obvious, and had always been so. Dawn and whatever teenaged girl she could get her socially deprived hands on. Buffy and... Buffy. Faith felt a twinge of something. Regret, guilt? Whatever, that was normal. She always felt _something_ when she thought of her counterpart. Whether it was a tingly, sort of fuzzy warmth in the pit of her stomach, or a raging, pulsing desire for competition, there was always something. With the search for matches or a lighter at the forefront of her mind, Faith jiggled the doorknob until the door slipped off of its plate and tumbled open, freeing her from the dusty confines of the lonely motel room. In an instant, she caught a pale glimmer of blonde hair under the cheap fluorescent light of the motel ceiling.

Buffy stopped walking as soon as she head footsteps in the hallway, instinctively pressing her back to the wall, her breathing ceasing so that she could silently assess whether the noises were coming from friend or foe. She had learned long ago that averting the end of the world hardly meant that all foes were vanquished.

A moment later, she realized that the footsteps belonged to Faith, who had, from the look of it, already noticed her. All these years later, and Buffy wasn't sure she'd ever met a worthier opponent - not even the First Evil itself was faster, stronger, rougher, and able to stay one move ahead of Buffy for years at a time. Heaving a great sigh, Buffy turned, offering the dark-haired slayer a weak wave.

Faith should have felt Buffy's presence minutes ago. Should have been able to feel her coming down the hallway. Pulling the rickety door shut behind her, Faith's gaze slid loosely over Buffy's.

"B." She murmured, taking a few steps forward, almost level with where the other Slayer stood. "You weren't just creepin' around my room, were you?" She teased; one eyebrow was cocked upward, lips pursed, though a smirk was quickly making its way up to the surface of her features. "Figured you'd be makin' big plans about now. Headin' off to save the next continent."

She loved to push Buffy's buttons, loved to watch her squirm. It had always given her pleasure, attempting to unwind the tightness in which Buffy had wound herself. Despite the recent events, Faith found herself to have changed little, to have lost little. She had never been incredibly connected with Sunnydale, and to see it gone now was more of a blessing than anything.

Buffy rolled her eyes and stared at the wall opposite Faith. She was perfectly aware that this was the other woman's way of trying to test the waters, see what kind of mood she was in. Was she ready to smile? Ready to fight? Ready to run? Buffy wished more than anything that she knew.

"I'm pretty sure we just saved all seven," she said, her voice quiet but firm, leaving no question that she was not in the mood for verbal banter. She tilted her head, shifting her gaze as she did so, and locked her eyes on Faith's. "You have a cigarette behind your ear," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, well...not doin' me much good without some firepower." Taking a few steps forward, threatening to pass the other slayer, Faith let her gaze soften, let her eyes fall over the tired lines in her equal's face. When had Buffy gotten so old? It seemed like just yesterday that they had been careless, reckless teenagers, traipsing over Sunnydale as if it were their own personal Slayer's Playground. She missed that. The playfulness left her face, her posture stiffened slightly, and Faith took a miniscule step closer to Buffy.

"B," She started, "Relax. We did it. It's.. done. You ain't ever gonna' have to worry about this shit again." Nodding her head towards the end of the hallway, the taller woman almost reached out to take Buffy's hand, stopping herself before allowing herself to be that familiar, to slip back into old habits.

"Come outside with me." She murmured, beginning the short walk towards the pathetic balcony.

Buffy smiled softly, though not exactly happily. Her expression was tired, almost relieved. Faith knew her so well, and had for so long, that it honestly would not have shocked Buffy if the other woman had actually read her mind, sensed that what she needed more than anything else was to not be alone tonight. But then, that would mean that Faith had sensed the need and immediately chosen to fill it. For that, Buffy felt almost like throwing herself into Faith's arms, holding on tight to something real, something true, though she wasn't sure what that was, exactly.

She didn't, though. She closed her eyes, thought for a moment, and nodded. Falling into place neither in front of Faith nor behind her, Buffy walked beside her as they approached the small sliver of cement that posed as a balcony. "You've just survived the apocalypse only to get lung cancer," Buffy quipped. It wasn't her best work, but it was something. A sign she wasn't dead inside yet. Maybe it was enough to comfort them both right now.

Another lopsided smile rose to the side of the brunette's face, and Faith glanced downwards towards the asphalt some ten feet below them. "Yeah, well... never really thought I'd stick around long enough for the big C to catch up with me." She said with a light, thoughtless shrug. "Besides, B, no reason to worry about me. Strong as on ox." She ensured her counterpart, shooting another flashy smile at the blonde.

As she positioned herself up against the railing, she felt an inward, inflamed sort of pain pulling at her lower back muscles. Briefly wincing, she stood up a bit straighter. "Although, those uber-vamp fuckers really gave me a run for my money." It wasn't often that Faith admitted bodily, or psychological pain for that matter, to even herself, but it was a dawning of a new era, she knew. Things were in the midst of change, and in that spirit, she would reluctantly attempt to better her relationship with Buffy, if the queen herself would allow it. "So... what are you thinking? Gonna jet to Cleveland or take a little break from the world?"

Buffy noticed Faith's slight flinch, and kept her eyes trained on the brunette's chiseled features, watching for the slightest additional grimace. Faith was as hearty as Buffy, able to take a tremendous beating and get on with it. At the same time, she was even more adept at hiding exactly how much such beatings sometimes hurt. She also knew that, despite her tough-girl exterior, Faith was probably shaken up about Robin Wood's death. He was the first nice guy Buffy knew about in a long line of assholes, and Faith deserved to meet someone like... well, someone decent, at any rate.

"How bad is it?" Buffy asked, gesturing at Faith's back and temporarily ignoring the brunette's question about her immediate plans.

Faith knew exactly what Buffy was questioning, knew the answer that her sister Slayer expected, and again attempted to be apart of the unstoppable change. She almost muttered out something along the lines of 'Fine, feels great actually!', something she might have said many years ago, but instead she let the truth fall quietly from her lips. "Bearable." She murmured, "You know how it is, B. Give it a day or two, tops, and I'll be good as new."

It was strange and unexpected, but the most active thought that settled in her mind as of late was the staggering amount of slayers that now existed in the world. Faith would never admit it to herself, but despite the good it would do the world, she would have given her left arm to have things go back to the way they were, for it to just be the two of them, the only two in the world who understood what it was like. She used to think that Buffy's life was perfect, but now, after the brief time she had spent at Apocalypse Headquarters, she came to find that they weren't so different after all. In fact, they were frighteningly similar.

"What about you?" She asked, nodding briefly towards the shorter woman. "Are you okay?"

Buffy looked away, unable for some incomprehensible reason to continue looking into Faith's eyes. They were changed, different somehow. Gone was the flip recklessness...it had been replaced by something a lot like kindness. Affection, maybe. But that was impossible - Faith had never looked at Buffy with genuine tenderness before.

"No," Buffy admitted, shaking her head slightly. "Not really." She blinked against the night air. "Spike is dead. Anya's dead." She swallowed past a lump in her throat. "Robin. Seven potentials."

The man's name sent an almost visible tremor throughout Faith. She struggled against her bodily reaction, and again averted her gaze towards the asphalt beneath them. God, she wished she had a lighter.

"Yeah," she finally spoke, mostly just to make a sound.

Robin. It wasn't fucking fair. Hadn't the guy just tried to help all this time? He had certainly helped her. With what, she wasn't entirely sure, but she knew she was a better person just for having been around him. That heavy sort of weight began to press against her shoulders, and Faith felt her mind attempting to think about too much at one time. She didn't want to think about the dead, about the end of Sunnydale, about her history with the town, any of it. She kind of just wanted to forget. With that in mind, she abruptly remembered the lone glass bottle that sat on her bedside table inside the motel room, the bottle she had purchased on their first stop outside of Sunnydale, with full intent on celebrating, though it remained sullenly untouched on that quiet bus ride. In attempt to quiet down the emotionally heavy thoughts running through her head, Faith glanced towards Buffy once more,

"How 'bout a drink?"

Buffy felt a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She managed a slight nod, realizing vaguely that Faith hadn't actually smoked her cigarette. "A drink sounds wonderful, actually," she said, vaguely remembering when she and Faith had last gone out on the town drinking together. So much had changed since then. The town itself didn't even exist anymore - and that was going to be a while in the processing.

Thankful for a reason to shed her dark, broody exterior, Faith straightened and quickly led the way back towards her room. As predicted, the bottle remained unopened and lonely on her bedside table. Flipping on the light as she made her way inside, Faith took a seat on the bed and went to work at opening the thing. Anything to forget. The room was strangely tidy, thought that could be attributed to the fact that Faith owned very little now. A small duffel bag sat in the corner of the room, and a couple of nickels were set atop the dresser. Other than that, the room appeared to be unoccupied. Taking the first drink, she briefly made a face at how strong the amber liquid seemed to be.

Handing the bottle over to Buffy, Faith smiled through the warmth, "If I remember correctly, you may have trouble with holding this down, B."

Buffy rolled her eyes, lifting her own glass and pushing it in Faith's general direction as a sort of mock salute. "And if I remember correctly, you may have a little trouble keeping your clothes on," Buffy quipped, not realizing the implications of what she'd said until after the words had already left her mouth. She gulped down the fiery whiskey, and nearly choked on it. "Wow, Big Spender," she teased, knowing full well Faith wouldn't have recognized an 80-year-old single malt if it leapt into her throat.

As soon as the words left Buffy's lips, Faith felt the familiar tingle of .. something, again. What was it? It pulled at her smile, it narrowed her eyes, gave her an expression that not only taunted her friend (friend?) but also invited her forward, closer. She almost laughed, but instead, retrieved the bottle back into her hands and leaned up against the bed frame.

"It's kinda' weird...being... I don't know, normal. No longer all that special, you know? Used to be the chosen two... now it's, what, the chosen 54,359?"

Buffy shrugged, looking up at the ceiling. "Hell if I know," she admitted. "At first, I was like... yay, rah, no longer the one girl in all the world, yada yada." The whiskey was making it easier to talk, so she poured herself another glass, this one a little taller than the first. May as well fill Faith's up while I've got it, she thought, and added a generous pour to Faith's not-yet-empty glass.

"I mean, let's face it. The whole 'alone' thing was sort of a major cause of angst. But..." She lifted her eyes, blue locking on brown. "Yeah, it's weird."

She swallowed, and while she still had to grimace it down, the burn was less this time. "We're still a twosome, far as I'm concerned. These whippersnappers don't know what's what. They've saved the world what... once?" She made a dismissive hand motion, hoping her outward ambivalence masked the serious doubt inside. Faith was right.

Again, the smile couldn't be contained, and Faith swallowed another drink of her never-ending glass. "Yeah," She faintly agreed, outstretching her legs and removing her jacket all in one swift motion. Again, another swallow, the beginning of social lubrication. "You deserve it, y'know."

What was this? She couldn't seem to control what was leaving her lips. Her thoughts, yes, her voice, not so much. "Um... getting some time off. Or, you know, a lifetime. You could do it, B. You could... let the newbie Slayers take over. You wouldn't have to ever pick up a stake again if you didn't want to." She wasn't entirely sure why she was saying it, why she was informing Buffy of this, because she was certain she had thought of it herself some time before. But she felt the need to let the other Slayer know, to show some form of equality, understanding, something other than hostility that existed between them.

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, I know," she said, slumping in her seat, knowing but not caring that its oversized cushions made her look even smaller than usual, which was to say, like a mini-person. "And it's not unattractive, the idea of leaving all this, living a nice little suburban life, married, kids, dog... the whole shebang." She said the words enthusiastically, trying to sell herself on the idea as much as Faith.

"But," she finally said, drinking slowly. "I'm not too sure I know who I'd be if I never picked up a stake again. It stopped being what I did...what I had to do... a long time ago." She shook her head slightly, remembering the suicide leap she had taken years earlier to ensure Dawn's survival. "It's who I am."

"Me too." Faith heard herself mumble after another long swallow.

And then, silence.

A moment of consideration.

Slaying was who they were. They would never be able to separate themselves from the Slayer. But that could have been a good thing, Faith mused, because who was she without the Slayer? She was a run-down, cheap-ass who got around a lot. A Bostonian with a loud mouth who could always find a fight. She was nothing without the Slayer, and she didn't want to be normal again. She needed to be special, needed to be a part of the Chosen two. The silence took over and Faith drank more and more, swallow after swallow until her body was comfortably warm, the room just slightly spinning. Her jaw clenched, she pushed the feelings away once more. "I need to be the Slayer." She finally whispered.

Buffy turned, surprised by both the interruption of their comfortable silence and by the quiet vulnerability of Faith's usually assertive voice.

Not fully understanding why, Buffy leaned forward, and brushed a stray lock of hair that had fallen in front of Faith's eye behind her ear, looking at her as if for the first time all day. "We are," she said simply.

The seemingly meaningless touch struck a chord in the dark-haired woman's insides. She didn't react, didn't move other than to glance upwards yet again at Buffy. Another swallow.

"The Slayer, Buffy. Not 'a' slayer." She insisted, "I need to be the Chosen One. I need to be... "

The words wouldn't come, the thoughts garbled in between alcohol and her own uncertainty. Why had Buffy touched her like that? What was she suddenly thinking about it? Had it felt good? Well, yeah, of course... Anytime they touched, whether it was during a fight or a simple brush of shoulders, electricity buzzed between them, shocked life into her limbs. Again, confusion. She had to be the Slayer, had to have Buffy as her partner. Her counterpart. Her equal. Frustrated, she stood, pacing the small area of the motel room, angry at herself, getting drunker. "I mean, you get it don't you? You feel it too, B, I know you do!"

Buffy felt her jaw clench with tension as she realized she did get it - she knew exactly what Faith was saying, exactly why everything was wrong even now that it was supposed to be all right. She had damned the world she knew in order to save one she didn't - a new world in which there was nothing to separate her and Faith from every other woman in the world. A world in which it was no longer Buffy and Faith on the one hand, and Absolutely Everyone Else on the other.

"I know," she said, her own voice sounded more ragged than usual. "I don't know how not to be us anymore, either."

"Then what the fuck are we supposed to do? How do we do this, B? How the fuck do we do this?" God, she had never intended on saying these things, thinking these even. She had only wanted ... she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure what she had been trying to accomplish by inviting Buffy over, but this certainly wasn't it. Forcing calm to descend upon her, she slowly lowered herself back to the bed, briefly dropping her head into her hands. "Sorry, I just... " She re turned her gaze to Buffy's eyes, placing her glass down on the bedside table, feeling wobbly, drunk. "Sorry."

Buffy stood, not sure what else to do. She'd seen Faith angry, seen her cornered, seen her scared, and seen her tense. She had never, though, seen Faith looking so utterly beaten, so lost.

"I'm not sure what 'this' is, Faith," Buffy said gently, stopping to place her glass down on the shoddy desk before walking over to the foot of the bed, standing for a long moment before sitting. "I have no idea what happens next, or what just happened, for that matter. I know that... I know that we're more powerful now than we've ever been. We're an army." She breathed deeply. "And you and me? Well, every army needs generals, right?"

Faith felt only a mild wash of comfort from Buffy's words, but nevertheless, it helped. Buffy had always had that strange ability to influence her emotions, if only briefly. She wasn't sure if it was the Slayer connection that did it, or what, but even the woman's presence could keep her at bay. God, she was in need, though. She understood that she was expected to step up as leader, but honestly she wasn't sure if she wanted to. She had kind of planned on taking off on her own after all of this, starting things over somewhere. Glancing up to Buffy once more, Faith could feel her body slumping, swaying slightly, getting drunker, and getting needier. She shouldn't have drunk so much, especially in front of Buffy. "Um... Yeah. I guess." She faintly agreed, hugging herself around the middle.

Faith seemed to almost shrink on the other side of the bed, and Buffy felt herself begin to warm with a quiet assuredness. In a sense, she recognized the feeling - it was the same natural control she seemed to be able to summon whenever a gap needed filling, whenever someone needed comfort. In another, though, she felt herself needing it as badly as the other girl. She looked at the floor. "Faith," she said quietly, swallowing down the tight lump that had formed in her throat. "I'm scared."

The words hit the dark-haired woman heavily, as if she had been punched. Buffy Summers, frightened. Ha, what a thought. Sitting up slightly, Faith found her eyes trailing up and down her counterpart, head to toe, examining her like she hadn't done in years.

They used to be so close. So connected.

It was like they two parts to a whole, partners, whatever you wanted to call it. Why had she fucked that up? It was a strange sensation, especially because Faith never consciously made the decision to move, to think even, but somehow Faith suddenly found that her lips were against Buffy's, and they were kissing, and she couldn't have stopped herself if she tried, and she was drunk, and she began to panic, though her lips remained stagnant.

Buffy's eyes opened wide, and then closed tightly as her hands moved, unconsciously, to close around Faith's back, and then to caress her cheeks. And suddenly it was no longer a frantic, feral contact, but became slow, deliberate. Buffy lowered her hands to rest them on Faith's shoulders, pushing her away just far enough to look at her.

Buffy licked her lips slowly, and lifted her eyes to Faith's.

"Faith," she said softly, "I... I want to do that again."


End file.
